


Blood Red

by EmmaDeMarais



Category: Fairy Tales and Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-28 00:04:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmaDeMarais/pseuds/EmmaDeMarais
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She pauses at the edge of the woods, but only to check her weapons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kassidy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kassidy/gifts).



She pauses at the edge of the woods, but only to check her weapons.

She allows herself a moment for a steadying breath - preparation for what's to come.

Gazing into the forest she recalls playing amongst the trees when she was still a young maiden.

Those days are not long past, yet she considers herself grown now. She has seen death, tasted terror and escaped mortal peril.

She is no longer a girl. Today, she is a hunter.

The quest for her prey begins now.

Clutching a lit torch in one hand and a sturdy dagger in the other, she sets out on the little used trail. In the old days merchants would traverse these woods, carrying their wares from town to town, only now the warring kingdoms make merchants scarce.

No man crosses her path; birds do not sing here anymore. All is quiet and empty, bereft of all save lengthening shadows as the sun falls from the sky, hurtling towards the distant horizon.

Nightfall will not stay her hand, she will draw blood tonight - she's sworn it so.

This is the path to her grandmother's house, at least it was until that monster ripped her to shreds and fed on her tender flesh. No amount of time can erase the image of those vacant eyes gazing at nothing, the white sheets stained blood red, the wolf's dripping jaws of death hovering over its bloody feast.

A shiver that comes not from the cold shakes her slender frame, but her step does not falter. She crosses tiny streams, no longer swelled by spring rains. She clambers over fallen tree trunks, careful not to set the forest alight.

At one point she stumbles on a loose rock and almost drops her torch. Only a nearby tree branch breaking her fall saves her. She takes a moment to calm her breathing after that. She cannot allow for distraction; it could mean her death.

Around the bend the cottage comes into view. She hears before she sees though. The howling chills her, reminds her of her foe's power and strength, its killing ways.

As she nears she goes to peek into the front window only to leap back as the wolf throws itself against the glass, snarling and gnashing its razor sharp teeth.

Fear floods her, making her stumble, heart racing so fast it feels as if it might burst from her heaving chest.

It was only a matter of time before he woke from his full belly stupor to realize he could not escape the tiny hovel where he'd made his last meal.

With trembling hands she checks the wooden beam set across the door, barring it closed. It bears cracks yet it has held despite how hastily she had put it in place when she last left. The wolf tried to escape and failed.

She knows her grandmother's body remains within those walls and tries not to grieve. There will be time later to weep over an empty grave, to remember one so beloved ripped away so cruelly.

The wolf throws himself against the windows again, making her jump and cry out in surprise. The window frames splinter slightly, but hold. She was right not to wait. If she is to end this, it must be now.

She places her torch carefully across two rocks to keep it going and sets about collecting tinder and brambles from the surrounding meadow. She places them near to the house, mostly under the windows and in front of the door.

She knows the wolf may well escape, but her blade is ready should that happen.

With a whispered prayer of forgiveness sent up to her grandmother's soul, she touches the torch to the tinder and stands back to watch the house catch fire.

The acrid smell makes her wrinkle her nose against the smoky air. Her eyes sting and water and she covets a drink from the well, coughing, but that must wait until the danger has passed.

She takes no joy in watching the wolf flail in the smoke and heat. She turns a deaf ear to his cries of pain. She merely braces herself for the inevitable confrontation, smoothing her skirt to soothe herself as she waits, her whole body tense as a bowstring.

When it happens she can't help but let a frightened scream escape her. The wolf, singed but still standing, breaks through the smoking shards of the once gaily painted front door and leaps free of the flames.

Her hand is already full from her apron pocket and she throws her hidden weapon into his path.

She begged the blacksmith for them, even agreed to let him court her in return for the most horrid and sharp metal burrs that his shop could provide.

The wolf bounds forward only to yelp in shock at the metal spikes driving into his paws. Stumbling to the ground, confused, he gnaws at the barbs, but they will not easily be removed.

This is her chance.

She rushes forward, the hood of her red cloak falling away from her face so the wolf will recognize her in her revenge.

She drives the dagger in deep, piercing its heart, spilling its blood. She watches it pool dark in the golden firelight, fighting back the roiling of her stomach at the nauseating stench of burned fur and rancid breath. It's eyes gaze up at her, already glazing over as death nears, and she twists the blade, ending the wolf's life for good.

Blood drips from her hands, stains her cloak as she stands and stares at the body of her enemy, shaking all over. The dagger slips from her hand and clatters onto a rock as she lets the shock of what she's done wash over her.

Thoughtless, she wipes her hands on her apron, marking the whiteness. Tearing it off she rushes to the well, fighting dry heaves of revulsion as she wipes her hands enough to raise the bucket and rinse away the last of the taint of the beast.

Darkness settles around her as she stares at the glow of a home turning to ash, waiting until the fire turns to embers before starting the long lonely trek back to her village.

The cottage can be rebuilt and someday she may be the lonely grandmother waiting for a sweet young maiden to come visit.

Only she'll have her dagger, her torch and her hunter's heart to protect her should another wolf dare to cross her door.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to beta inforpenny!


End file.
